Lenore

Another Christmas came, and she was feeling different. A good kind of different, for the first time. Probably because this time, he didn't honour her with his presence. He left for one of his many business trips, which she had stopped questioning. Lately, they had been happening more and more often. This time, conveniently, it just so happened that he had to leave on Christmas. Her first Christmas alone in six years of their marriage. Alone, left to talk to the walls that didn't talk back, not even once. However, she didn't mind. She didn't want to admit to the fact that the reason of her sorrows is gone for a month. Partialy because she felt like a bad wife, but also because that would mean that she was responsible for her own happiness. She was always too big of a fatalist. After all, it is so much easier to succumb to the sadness than actually take initiative.  And so she was lying on her bed, with her legs swinging in the air, ignoring all the things that would once send her spiraling. She had this weird essence, this so called „thing“, where she seemed like the most innocent person to bless this Earth, but somehow one felt that she had lived a hundred lives before this one. Reading one of her favorite books, she felt shielded from the bloodshed of the world. Between the book covers, inside the pages, she was safe.  She deserted the bed and decided to turn on the radio for the first time that year. Her ears were greeted with Christmas music, no less. She started waltzing around the room, throwing her slender body all around, with almost no control of her movement. She closed her eyes and let the universe take her. This time, the Christmas songs didn't kill her like they once did. The cheerful melodies didn't rip her ears until she wanted to scream and run and burn and…no, not this time. She wasn't feeling the rage and the melancholy she always thought were inevitable. She almost forgot how much she loved music. She forgot many things she loved. It felt as if all that was left in her were the constant cynicism and condescending pretensions, she felt like a nihilistic caricature of a person who once enjoyed not having a purpose. Still, every once in a while, one could see a glimpse of childlike innocence in her. A sort of pure, untouched spirit, unaware of all the sickness and the fear in her and around her. Art always loved her, and asked for nothing in return. Music didn't hurt her, novels didn't manipulate. Paintings didn't rip her soul apart like people could, like she so often did to herself. Art simply existed. It was untainted by her impressions and experiences. Whether she was sad or euphoric, filled with rage, pride or fear, the song went on, unchanged like it did so many times before her. And so she once again lost herself in thought without realising it, when Lenore awoke her with a soft meow. How strongly, how intensely she loved Lenore. Black as a hopeless night, but with the personality of the sunniest day., she was her soulmate. Silvia was looking at her endless, cosmic eyes and suddenly felt alive. She once again felt a dash of beauty she thought this world had lost a long, long time ago…It was kind of ironic, in a way, how Silvia was often so blind to the beauty and the magic around her. All the freedom and the charm of the 60s somehow bypassed her, all the magic of bohemianism escaped her, all the colours left her unpainted, uncoloured - like a blank canvas, an empty page, an unwritten song… But Lenore was always there. In a way, she carried perfection one couldn't find anywhere else in the world. Fat and clumsy, she was one with the universe. No thoughts, mouth that spoke with no reasoning; to Silvia, she was untouchable. Without any care or even awareness of the world around her and her own existence, she was happy. She was happy because she didn't know what happiness was. She experienced life in the most noble way, without thinking about it. She suddenly started with her butt-wiggling ritual and invited Silvia to play. Silvia jumped off of her bed and ran after Lenore, who rushed faster than anyone could have imagined. The two of them looked at each other. Two girls in completely different headspaces, sharing nothing but the connection the universe gave them. Silvia jumped on the floor and cautiosly started to rub Lenore's stomach. A dangerous game, she knew. Pain covered her face as Lenore's razor-sharp teeth dug into her gentle, white hand. A bittersweet pain, but a pain nonetheless. Both of them lied on the floor, worn out by the sudden outburst of energy, and stared at the ceiling. Silvia often wondered if Lenore had any thoughts whatsoever, or if they were simple animal instincts. She wondered if she had desires more complex than food and sleep. Sometimes she saw her as a bit dull, which she felt slightly guilty of. However, other times, she thought the animal's content with the bare necessities of life were admirable to say the least, and desirable to say the most. As she looked at the coal black cat, she didn't sense any thoughts, desires, or even a sense of awareness of her own reality. She just felt serenity exuding off of that plump body. Maybe people really are the dumbest animals. For a few minutes, Silvia forgot that it was Christmas. She forgot about Jack too, until she felt the stinging in her eyes caused by their picture on her bedside table. The picture had a beautiful golden frame – Silvia often felt the frame was wasted on a picture which she could only describe as hideous and insencere. She looked at the picture, she looked at the frame, she looked at Lenore. „Fuck him“, she said, grabbed Lenore and walked out of the house.